


Fantasy and Fingernail Scratches

by slartibartfast



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slartibartfast/pseuds/slartibartfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Willow kisses her the spark lights the fire and all her fluster and awkwardness blows away on the breeze.<br/>Set in season four after their deliciously femslashy meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasy and Fingernail Scratches

She knows it's just a dream, but that doesn't make it feel any less real.

It's vivid and it's warm and it's full of color the way she's always been told dreams aren't supposed to be, but she remembers lying down that night and she remembers closing her eyes. She's asleep, but this feels truer than a simple dream.

Willow's hand is tight around Fred's, long and slender fingers holding on possessively. Fred's flustered but Willow's the calm to her storm, a smile like a beam of light through her tumulus clouds. The space between them closes in and it's electric, sparks flicking through the dark, gold and blue.

Fred's head is always so full and it surprises her that she has space enough to fit this much more.

When Willow kisses her the spark lights the fire and all her fluster and awkwardness blows away on the breeze of this amazing woman's breath against her lips. The bed is too hot but they don't kick off the covers, they just draw them up tight around them. It's just them in this little soft cave. The world outside goes at the first touch.

"I'm dreaming," Fred says. Her voice sounds distant.

Willow smiles and kisses a line down her neck, speaking without moving her lips. "Maybe."

Her lips, thin and wet and perfect, catch around one of Fred's nipples and Fred squirms. It's like that touch runs straight down between her legs, making her muscles tense as she concentrates on it. Like if she turns her mind from it, she will lose it. Wake up and watch the shadows turn.

"How did you get here?" Fred asks, the words sluggish and slow. "You left."

"You wanted me," said Willow, still without words. Fred's spit-damp nipple slips from her lips and she looks up, grinning. This time, her voice is in the room, not just in Fred's mind. "This is your dream, Fred. Maybe I've been here forever."

And as the witch slides down further beneath the covers, Fred decides she doesn't care _how_, only that it never stops.

-

In the morning, her body is sore and aching. _It was a dream_, she tells herself. _A dream._

Fred picks up the phone anyway, dialing the number and waiting for the ringing to stop. When it does, when a male voice answers, her heart jumps to her throat but she manages to croak out the question. "Um, is Willow there?"

"She's out, you want me to take a message?" asks the man. "Who is it? I can get her to call you back."

"No," Fred says, and hangs up.

It was nothing but a dream. The fingernail scratches on her chest and thighs must be her own, pulled up by her fantasy.

(Even if she keeps her own nails cut short.)


End file.
